The House Which Time Forgot, Not Fair
by VictorianChik
Summary: One-shot, set in the continuance of the The House Which Time Forgot. During Harry's third year, Snape deals with Harry's escape to Hogsmeade. Thirteen and ready to make his own decisions, Harry feels that life is quite unfair. Warning: spanking.


It wasn't fair.

Harry did his best to calm his shaking hands. He was sitting on a stool, facing the middle of the room.

He had been caught. Caught red-handed. Caught in Hogsmeade, then caught running back with the map in his pocket. Lupin had tried to soothe matters over, claiming the map was a joke and then taking, but Snape had fixed Harry with that Look.

"Tonight," Snape had said. "My quarters at five."

Harry had been a nervous wreck through the end of the afternoon, but he had been early to meet Snape in the dungeon. Snape hadn't said anything, just latched onto his collar and directed him to the stool. "You sit here and think about your behavior," Snape had told him before vanishing into another room.

Harry wasn't thinking at all. He was trying to stem the tears pressing against his eyes. His throat kept catching, and his bottom lip shook, and he felt so stupid for pushing his luck. He had lived with Snape for a year and a half now, and Harry prided himself on being able to not only tolerate Snape but manage him most of the time. They argued occasionally, usually because Snape was either ready to torture his adopted son or be overly protective of him. Snape sneered as much as he fussed, but Harry usually shrugged it off. The trick to living with Snape was to ignore him, mostly. Or at least not take his insults seriously or be hurt by his mood swings.

But here, here was different. He had begged to go to Hogsmeade, and Snape had said no. And it had been a real no.

"You are not going," Snape had told him.

"Everyone else gets to!"

"I am your father now, and I am not giving you permission. The teachers know you aren't allowed there and so do most of the students."

"Why not?" Harry's voice had held a definite whine. "I'm thirteen now. You can't do this to me."

"I have my reasons. You aren't going, and that's final."

Harry had stomped off, and then he had planned an escape with his Cloak and the Map. Hogsmeade had been brilliant in its shops and sights, and his friends were there, celebrating their newfound freedom with a carelessness that Harry desperately wanted. He had to sneak around in his Cloak while they got to sit in the open and talk easily, but at least he got to go.

All had seemed fine then, but Draco had seen his head and then tattled.

And now he was in trouble, deep trouble. His stomach twisted painfully, and he felt as if his world was beginning to crack and crumble with despair around him.

He had been sitting there forever, alone and abandoned. Sitting for hours and hours –

He sneaked a peek at the clock.

Sitting for a whole four minutes.

Still, it was agony, being left like this while Snape sat somewhere and judged him. Why couldn't he start yelling? Harry could take the yelling. He could take the means looks and the sharp words. He knew he should feel hurt when Snape was cold to him, but it ignited something fierce and protective in Harry. He could take on Snape, and he could give back just as good as he got.

But now . . . now he had been deliberately disobedient. This wasn't trading barbs over breakfast when Snape said he had to get a haircut because his hair made him look homeless and Harry retorted for Snape to cut his own hair. Then Snape threatened to shave all his son's hair off and Harry answered that even shaved he would still look better than his adopted father.

Those were the fun times.

This was a nightmare.

Snape came in and sat in the large chair across from him. Snape sat rigidly and crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on Harry.

Harry kept his gaze glued to the floor. Tears were starting to gather, misting the inside of his glasses, and his throat felt like it was slowly suffocating him. He didn't understand how he could be thirteen and be at the mercy of his feelings in such a terrible, horrible way. He had faced worse dangers with bravery – stared death in the face without blinking. But he couldn't speak a word in front of the man who had adopted him and–and did other things that mattered but that Harry couldn't think about right now because he had to keep a shred of dignity and not bawl like a toddler.

"What did I tell you about Hogsmeade?"

The usual sneer was gone, replaced with what Harry could only think of as disappointed, furious-father face.

"No?" Harry whispered.

"You will sit up and answer clearly. If you have the cheek to disobey me, you better have the cheek to fess up to it. What did I say?"

"You say I couldn't go," the tears had welled up in his left eye and a large drop spilled over. He didn't dare swipe at it.

"I said you couldn't go. I didn't say you could go with your Cloak and that Map or in disguise. I said no."

"But it wasn't fair . . ." his right eye spilled over, streaking another huge tear down his cheek.

"It doesn't matter if it's fair or not. I tell you what you're going to do, and you best step into line. If I decide you can't step out of my sight for a week, you'll do it, and you won't complain. I have my reasons."

"You don't w-want me to be with my f-friends."

"I would lock you up at home if I wanted that. I told you no, I meant no, and you ignored me. Last summer you tried to sneak about, hiding the fact that you were sick from me. I thought I had dealt with your sneaky disobedience then, but apparently I wasn't stern enough with you."

"No," Harry could barely speak, "you were."

"Then care to explain yourself?"

He opened his mouth, but words didn't come. He meant to say something about how hard it was to be on the outside, to feel like the freak, to not feel normal like his friends, to watch them gad about while he was stuck inside. He had fainted with the Dementors and Black was hiding out there somewhere and Draco had laughed at him and Ron and Hermione had been so annoyingly sympathetic and sorry for him. It wasn't fair, and he hated it!

Two more tears followed, and he clamped his teeth onto his bottom lip, biting until the pain swelled up.

"Oh, no, you don't," Snape growled. "You stop this self-pity right now. You disobeyed, you got caught, and now you want to snivel your way out of it. You're about to be punished and you can wail all you like then, but right now, you own up to your shame."

Harry glared at him from under the tears. Like most emotional moments with Snape, he felt torn into a thousand pieces. He wanted to hide his face in Snape's shoulder and be held; he wanted to punch Snape. He wanted to beg for forgiveness; he wanted to scream insults at the man.

"All right," Snape nodded to the large wooden desk to one side of the room, "take off your robe and over the desk with you."

Harry wanted to sigh relief that he didn't have to bend over Snape's knee, but as he stood and began unbuttoning his robe with shaky fingers, he wished he had the nerve to declare he wasn't going to be spanked. Surely thirteen was too old for such a punishment, and if he complained, surely someone would tell Snape to find another way of dealing with his disobedience son. Harry didn't want to serve detention, and he didn't want to write lines or be confined to his room or anything at all. He wanted to live without consequences, and he wanted to never be caught doing anything bad, and he really wanted Snape to let him do whatever he pleased and support all his decisions and never tell him what to do ever.

Did a world exist where all of those things were possible?

In his shirt and trousers, Harry bent over the desk and laid his head to the side, the edge of his glasses clinking against the surface.

"Glasses," Snape held out his hand.

Harry gave them over submissively, and the blurry world made him feel twice as vulnerable. He had to trust that Snape would take care of him, even while Snape was punishing him, and that Snape would know when to stop and how much he could take. Part of Harry's mind screamed at him to run, that Snape couldn't be trusted, that Snape was the enemy who delighted in hurting him, that Snape would tear him to shreds and then abandon him.

"Grip the far edge if you need, but don't move." Snape opened a drawer and pulled out something. He struck it in his palm and confirmed Harry's fears—a wooden ruler.

His whole body wanted to run, and his magic tingled over his skin in warning. But he shut his eyes and gripped the edge of the desk tightly. "I really am sorry, Dad. I – I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know." A warm hand rested on his shoulder, firm and calming.

A second later the first smack of the ruler came down.

Harry yelped and gripped tighter. It hurt – a flat but sharp pain that flared up then abated into dull heat – but even worse than the physical pain was the feeling that arose in him. He hated everyone and everything. The tears had come already, and the awfulness increased as he screwed his eyes up and held on for dear life.

Please, please, just let it all end. Let him stop feeling.

He hadn't realized that Snape had stopped swatting until the man said,

"Would you stop overreacting? I've given you a mere five wallops and you lay there bawling and holding on like I'm flaying you alive. You are the biggest baby I've even seen."

Harry's eyes flew open at that insult. He kicked back his right foot, aiming for Snape's legs but missing.

He felt Snape grab the waistband of his trousers, and swats rained down on his rear. Harry gritted his teeth, and more tears came as he yelped, "Ow! Stop! I'm sorry – ow!"

But the awfulness had disappeared, that overwhelming depression which had threatened to crush him.

Snape delivered one last whack and then pulled him up.

Harry swiped at his face, glaring at the floor in what hoped was a furious manner rather than a disgruntled pout. "Ow!" he accused Snape, reaching back a hand to rub. "You used magic to make that . . . harder."

"I did no such thing. And you better not be talking back to me or I'll hex your tongue to the roof of your mouth."

Harry rubbed again, wishing he were brave enough to stalk out of the room rather than wait to see if he might get a hug.

"You might as well get yourself down to supper," Snape sounded a little cold still. "Then you will come back here afterwards and study before bed."

Harry looked up, trying to judge the tone of the situation. From past experience, he knew that Snape usually was a tad softer after a punishment, a notch less severe than normal.

"You're getting spanked again before bed."

Harry felt his mouth open, and his protest sprung out before he could stop himself. "But you just spanked me! I thought it was over."

"I punished you for disobeying me and going to Hogsmeade," Snape said. "Tonight you'll be punished for lying to me about that map."

Beastly unfair! Harry eyed the distance between his foot and Snape's kneecap.

"You kick me, and I'll repeat it tomorrow night as well."

It was almost worth it, just to deliver an angry rebuke to Snape.

With an exhalation of frustration, Snape took Harry's shoulder and delivered a loud, open-handed swat to his behind.

"Ow!"

"If you're acting like this, then I went too easy on you."

"I hate this!" Harry stomped his foot. "I thought it was over and it isn't and it's not fair that I have to stay here just because Black is sneaking around. I never get to do anything that Ron and Hermione get to do and I'm thirteen now and not a baby and you called me one but-"

Without warning, Snape reached for him. Harry tensed, expecting more swats, but Snape drew him against his side, one arm on Harry's shoulder and the other hand soothing over his sweaty forehead.

"Shh," Snape's voice was slightly less cold. "Calm down and just breathe."

Harry buried his head in Snape's robe and let it dry his tears. His body was shaking, and he hiccupped a little.

"You'll make yourself sick again, like in the summer," Snape went on. "You already fainted when that Dementor attacked the train weeks ago."

"I didn't faint," Harry's protest was muffled against the robes.

"And I bet you went to Hogsmeade without a coat," Snape's tone was now scolding. "That Cloak gives no warmth, and you stomped around in the snow for hours."

"I had my robe on."

Snape angled him towards the bathroom. "You are taking a hot bath, and I will find you some warming potions. You can have supper down here though it would really serve you right if I turned you into a puppy and kept you with Vampyre in his crate."

Harry thought about retorting that the crate wasn't big enough for both of them, but Snape was hustling him along gently, feeling his forehead for fever, replacing his glasses, and making general noises of displeasure at Harry's carelessness. Harry decided to just go along without protest, letting the last of his sniffles go and ignoring the slight dread in his stomach at the thought of a later punishment.

The bath did feel good, and Harry put on the pajamas Snape provided (though it was not even six o'clock!) and got into the armchair to be piled with blankets and potions. And Snape went into hover-mode as he brought tea, then food, another potion he had forgotten, more tea, and one last potion until Harry turned his face away.

"I can't put another spoonful of anything in my mouth!"

"Then settle down and be quiet for one second."

Harry meant to reach for a book, but he made the mistake of snuggling down and watching the fire. The flames blurred, split into two, and disappeared into darkness. He felt better than he had all week, and even if life were unfair, he thought he could bear it for a little while longer.

Out of the dark haze of sleep, he awoke to find Snape carrying him and the blankets into the second bedroom.

Harry sighed, but Snape said, "Stop fussing – I'm not going to spank you tonight. I finally got you settled down and still for a second and there's no use getting you riled up again."

With gentle, careful movements, Snape set him on the bed, and Harry rolled to the side and let the man cover him up before saying,

"I'll be thinking about it all night."

"You are the most demanding, useless boy I have ever -" Snape huffed.

Then he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, pushing him forward into the bed, and bring his hand down on Harry's rear with a thud. It didn't hurt through the covers, but Harry gave him the satisfaction of squirming. Snape spanked (firmly patted?) him three more times before demanding,

"Are you going to lie to me again?"

"No, Dad," Harry said into the pillow.

Another much put upon sigh, and Snape rolled him back.

"You can't lie to me," Snape said, his voice this time quiet, without its usual sneer. "I have to be able to trust you to keep you safe."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say in his own defense, so he stayed quiet.

"It's not fair to me if you lie," Snape added.

Harry looked up in surprise, but when Snape glanced down, Harry pretended to be half-asleep and nodded drowsily.

"And you better have not snuck back any candy or tricks. If I find a wrapper, you'll be very, very sorry."

Harry just pretended to be asleep.

As Snape left, Harry burrowed down deeper into the covers and thought about the pocketful of treats he had hidden in Gryffindor Tower. Technically, not telling something wasn't the same as lying.

And surely he was entitled to some candy after all those disgusting potions.

It was only fair.


End file.
